


The Flamesprayer.

by maerkus



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25370536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maerkus/pseuds/maerkus
Summary: A very short fic about how Gilbert acquired the flamesprayer he gives the player character.
Kudos: 10





	The Flamesprayer.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the line he says in which he states he "never got the chance to use it", which then made me wonder just how he got it in the first place.  
> Enjoy!

Gilbert coughed. No matter how much water he consumed, he could not cease the tickle in his dry throat. He tried to have a sip, only to cough and hack it up. What was this sickness? Could this be…?  
There was a knock at his door. The ill man took the covers from his body.  
“Just a moment!”  
His body ached as he got out of bed and stood. His shaky hands struggled to open the multiple locks adorning the inside of the door. Once it was open, however, his already-pallid face became ghastly.  
It was a Church Hunter, clad in black: the color of Yharnamite fear, for it was they who worked in the night and _took care of_ the sick-- so it was said. Something was uttered, and this Hunter let himself in. Gilbert heard not what, however; as he closed the door behind the man, his eyes were too busy wandering.  
“Oh, minister, you’ve come for something important, I presume…?” Gilbert inquired, then coughed. He saw a glimmer from beneath the Hunter’s dark vestments, something _shining_. And upon his shoes, there was something else. He could see, even through their dark color, that they were _bloody_. The man reeked of burning flesh.  
Something clicked in Gilbert's mind. His eyes widened. The thing under the coat, it was a flamesprayer. And the blood, it was from the sick. From who else could it be?  
Split-seconds passed like hours, like years, like centuries. Before the black-clad man had the chance to turn around, Gilbert was on him, breaking an empty blood bottle on the back of the Hunter’s head. It shattered. Blood gushed from the back of his head, his cap flew from his head, and he fell upon all fours, swearing and hissing something. Gilbert didn’t comprehend the words. Instead, he took another bottle and smashed it over him. And another. And another. And another. Until the Hunter collapsed, lifeless.  
Gilbert snatched up the flamesprayer and threw a soiled sheet over the corpse of the Hunter meant to wield it against him. He wheezed as he got up off the floor. As the door was locked, he was practically hacking up a lung. The reek of blood made him feel nauseous, as did his own actions.


End file.
